


Don't Carry it All

by unicorngirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicorngirl/pseuds/unicorngirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve recognized something was wrong. Memories weren't quite matching up and everyone seemed to be giving him strange looks. However, between pushing back his pain and hallucinating his dead best friend, there wasn't much time to figure it all out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve ignored the insistent wail of his alarm and rolled over weakly. He reached feebly for the bedside desk and fumbled in the dark to switch the noise off. The bandages wrapped thickly around his shoulder made the movement nearly impossible and he couldn’t help but groan at the deep pain burning throughout his entire right half.

He tried to remind himself it was good; he had survived the impossible again. Maybe pain killers wouldn’t work well, if at all, on his new body, but no normal human could have survived a fraction of what he’d been through.

“JARVIS, lights please.” 

His voice was quiet and gravelly. Tony would have laughed at how unlike 'America's Hero' he sounded. Then again, Steve didn't feel much like a hero right now. 

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

The lights came up slowly and stopped before becoming glaringly bright. His place at the tower was huge, bedroom included, with a bed that could have easily fit three of him and a television that was reminiscent of an old movie screen. 

The place looked unused. There was a fine layer of dust covering everything from the television to the desk. He’d been there only a week ago, but it seemed as if it had been months.

He gritted his teeth and struggled to prop himself up against the headboard. Steve groaned at the strain, trembling as his usually strong body shook at the effort. His head spun dizzily and he swallowed back a wave of nausea. 

The weakness reminded him of when he was younger, when taking a flight of stairs was exhausting and running a block enough to have him gasping for breath. It was terrifying. 

A loud chime filled the room, pausing only for a moment before sounding again. 

Steve glanced at the bright red numbers of his alarm. It was just after five thirty. Had a half hour already passed since he'd woken up? 

“JARVIS.” Steve ran a hand through his hair in a poor attempt to tame it and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room swam momentarily. He needed a hot shower and a good shave. Or at the least a change of clothing. 

He was gritty and greasy. Steve wouldn’t pretend that he had the strength currently to make himself any more presentable. Before, Bucky would drag his skinny frame out of bed and clean him up. Now, it would just have to wait until he was recovered or one of the other Avengers took pity on him. “Could you let Dr. Sanchel in please?”

“Of course, Mr. Rogers.” The cultured voice answered smoothly. 

The early visits were new, and if Steve’s body anything to go by, unwelcome. His edges were still too raw this early; he hadn’t the opportunity yet to get a handle on the pain, to beat it into a corner and ignore it for a few hours. There were ants crawling up under his skin, hot coals lodged in his shoulder. 

“Mr. Rogers?” Dr. Sanchel’s voice carried down the hall.

“In here, ma’m.” He called out. Steve wanted to stand, to go and greet the doctor who’d saved his arm and get her a cup of coffee. He clenched his jaw and put his weight onto his feet. 

“Don’t try it.” Natasha’s voice cut through the room coldly. 

Steve glanced up, surprised, and automatically shifted his weight back onto the bed. This early her no nonsense voice sounded a lot like the nuns he’d grown up with.

“Wha?” He spoke and blinked. Even his eyelids were tired “What are you doing here? Where’s Dr. Sanchel?”

His teammate stood in the open doorway wearing dark clothes and looking perfectly at ease. She was an early riser or had yet to sleep. With her, either could be true. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re slurring your words.” 

He tilted his head back against the headboard behind him and ignored the reprimand. It was true he’d been a bit generous in his last conversation with Fury over his progress, but it wasn’t as if the team could do anything to make his recovery go faster. It was better if they thought him mostly fine, if a bit immobile.

Her eyes tracked over his shoulder, looking for what, he didn’t know, before meeting his gaze. 

Steve looked away. “It’s just early is all.” 

His cheeks reddened. 

Natasha made a noncommittal noise.

“Did you just get in?” Steve followed up, concentrating on making his words clear and concise. She’d been on assignment when he’d gotten injured. It was a bit fuzzy, but he thought he could remember her and Barton speaking in low voices and heading out late one night.

Natasha opened her mouth to say something and instead closed it and gave the doctor on indecipherable look. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Yes.” She sat on one of the plush chairs tucked into the far corner and slid her feet beneath her. Her hair had been pulled back into a severe pony tail and there was a dark bruise high on her cheek. 

The two had worked together enough that seeing her wasn’t strange, even if he never seemed to know just what to say to her. It was disconcerting to have her in his space, so early, and for apparently no reason.

“Sorry about that.” Dr. Sanchel breezed through the open doorway, cup of coffee in hand and alarmingly awake. Her glasses were perched low on her nose and she’d foregone the usual white coat. “I needed to make a quick phone call.” She opened the bag she’d brought on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, doctor.” Steve replied. Behind her, Natasha remained pointedly silent. 

Dr. Sanchel clucked her tongue and made to remove his dressings. “Still sore?”

Steve tried not to think about waking up and vomiting from the pain or the times he’d literally curled up in his bed and cried until he couldn’t anymore. “A bit. What is Natasha doing here, ma’m?”

It was embarrassing for the ex assassin to see him so vulnerable. He had bed head, morning breath, and wore only a pair of sleeping pants.

He moved a bit to help Dr. Sanchel unwind the bandages. Beneath, his entire arm and shoulder looked like they’d been put through a meat grinder. The skin where his shoulder met his arm was bruised black, portions of it oozed clear fluid. Steve snuck a glance at Natasha, but her features remained unchanged at the sight.

“Well, pain is to be expected, even with your enhanced healing. It really is a miracle we were even able to save your arm.” She gave him three shots in quick succession and ignored his question about Natasha. “When they brought you in I wasn’t even certain we’d be able to save your life.”

“Thank you again, for that.” Steve responded, “Really, it sounds like you–”

She cut off his words with a dismissive hand wave. “Please don’t thank me again young man. I don’t think I can keep count of how many times you’ve expressed your gratitude.”

He looked down and shrugged automatically, eyes closing at the explosion of pain that rocked through his body at the motion. Steve inwardly berated himself for the careless move, even as he waited for the ringing in his ears to pass.

“Steve?” When he was finally able to open his eyes, Dr. Sanchel was close enough that he could see the freckles across her nose. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” He answered. He heard the slur in his voice. “Guess I’m just more tired than I thought. Doctor, do you know anything more about the memory loss?” 

Dr. Sanchel dutifully took his temperature before giving him one more shot. Her mouth remained in a firm line the entire time. “Someone will come by around noon for a second round. I am hopeful this new treatment will do the trick and get you up in no time. And with it your memories should start to straighten out.”

“Good. Coulson wanted me to help him plan a team barbecue. For the fourth. I just…”

Steve drifted off and leaned back against the headboard. In the distance he could hear his team; Dum Dum spun a story in a low voice and the rest of the crew laughed and joined in. He leaned more fully against Bucky, who never complained when Steve fell asleep slouched up against him, and drifted.

When he focused again, Natasha was helping Dr. Sanchel tuck him in as if he were a child. She did it efficiently, adjusting his huge form as if he were much smaller. 

“How long has he been this way?” Natasha spoke in a low voice to the doctor. Steve’s eyes drifted closed again. 

“He insisted on moving out of the hospital but it was too soon. He shouldn’t be by himself.” The doctor sighed. “I’ve had a few people stopping by throughout the day to check on him.” Had she? Steve really was out of it if he hadn’t noticed. “Did you see the report?”

Natasha said nothing. There was a slight rustling of cloth.

“Yes, well.” Sanchel continued. “He is very lucky.” There was another rustle and the lights dimmed. “With the pain meds and sleep meds, hopefully he’ll get a couple hours of rest before he burns them off. Did you need to talk to him?”

“No.” Natasha’s voice remained soft. “But someone asked me to check up on him.”

“Hmm?” 

“It’s nothing.”

Steve tried to feel frustration at Dr. Sachel but he was too tired. He had told her not to bother with the meds. Pain receding was a welcome relief, but its return was enough to leave him a mess. They made him woozy, made reality blur. 

He opened his eyes again in the now darkened room, watching blankly as Natasha perched again in the corner. Next to him, Bucky, dirty as hell from camping and hiking all day, sprawled out on the covers.

“What do you think?” Bucky whispered. He was black and white like an old photograph. If Steve looked at him directly he faded out of focus. “I don’t think they made dames like that back when you and I were running around.”

Steve didn’t answer his best friend. Natasha reminded him a bit of Peggy. Both had a strong no nonsense attitude that made them unstoppable. They commanded respect. It was too bad that Bucky and Peggy had never really gotten to know each other. Too bad that Bucky had been gone for decades and never met Natasha.

He could practically see them interacting, sharing knowing looks at his antiquated attitude, Tony’s sarcasm, and Clint’s ability to find the highest point in a room. He knew that Bucky would have fit in great.

The Russian pulled out a paperback and opened it.

“’Tasha?” Steve asked. 

She paused and turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Is everything alri’?” He turned to ask Bucky, but his friend was already gone. Steve’s head lolled to the side; his neck was weak like a wet noodle. “Where’d you go? Bucky?”

An undecipherable look crossed her face. “Bucky?”

“You don’t know him.” Steve spoke more into his shoulder than to her. There was a rock sitting in the middle of his chest, crushing his heart and making his lungs burn. “He was just here. Sits with me.”

The drugs made his tongue loose. He pointedly closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She didn't need to hear his sob story about Bucky being dead dead dead and not coming back. He felt as if he were drunk.

“Go to sleep Steve.” Natasha rubbed at her forehead. 

"You would have liked him." He couldn't help but add. "Everyone liked him, you know?"

"Yes." Natasha sighed. "I know." Her voice sounded far away and tired. "Rest."

Steve did.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve woke with a headache eclipsing the pain in his arm and shoulder. He groaned and hissed, jerking against the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Hours had passed since he’d fallen into a drug induced sleep and the sun was high and bright.

He swallowed back the thick taste of ash and dirt. The pain made his head spin and he drifted, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and patiently let it wash over him. The trick helped him a lot as a teen, when there was no medicine or easy fix. He just had to float above it.

He couldn't quite remember what he'd been dreaming about. There had been tunnels and stone arches and a man in a mask with cold eyes. Natasha's kept shouting in Russian and he'd felt hollowed out, wasted away.

Past the open doorway something moved and Steve focused on the unfamiliar person. The man spoke quietly into his phone; his long hair hung in his face and looked dirty and unkempt. He brought his free hand up and gently adjusted a photo on the far wall. He wore a strange silver glove.

As if sensing Steve’s gaze, the stranger’s head automatically swiveled.

It was Bucky. Dressed all wrong in a worn long sleeved shirt and jeans; dark circles stained the skin beneath his eyes and a thick line of tension ran down his back. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice slurred; his consonants chewed up. 

His dead best friend watched him with a pained expression before running a shaky hand through his hair. Had Steve fallen asleep again? Had Dr. Sanchel given him another dose?

Bruce stepped into view, cutting off Steve’s line of vision to Bucky. 

“Hey.” The scientist meandered towards the open doorway and didn’t glance at Bucky. 

“Bucky?” Steve questioned again. He craned his head to the side to see past the doctor.

“Nope, just me, Bruce. You remember that, right?” Bruce crossed his arms and smiled thinly. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up and his trousers wrinkled.

“Yes.” He answered automatically. “Of course I remember you. I just can’t remember the… the…” Steve struggled at the gaping blank space left in his memories, “fight.”

Bruce nodded his head. “Right.”

Steve tried not to squirm under his stare; Bruce would always be a bit of enigma to him. He liked the mild mannered man; it was hard not to when Bruce never chuckled at Steve’s confusion over technology or his inability to understand pop culture references.

The anger, however, made Steve wary. Steve couldn’t understand how someone so mild could have mindless destruction within him.

“Um, what’s going on? Does Fury need me?” He tried to focus on his words and not the pain floating just under the surface. His stomach rolled and his muscles automatically tensed. It was too bright, the sun a spotlight burning him away.

“Nothing, just checking in on you. And no, Fury doesn't need you. You're still on leave." Bruce’s words came from the far end of a tunnel. He wiped his hands against his pants and uncomfortably shifted his weight.

Steve swallowed again, shutting his eyes against the white hot pain that swelled up like a wave. 

“Thanks for stopping by. I’m fine.” He whispered. Sweat gathered on his brow and pooled in his collarbone. A breeze could blow him apart, spread him across the room like dust.

There was a long pause.

“JARVIS?” Bruce’s voice started. “Could you turn the lights off and shut the shades?”

Steve couldn’t help the sound of gratitude as the room got darker and darker. He opened his eyes to pitch black. The outline of Bruce was barely visible after several minutes.

“Are you still going to be sick?” Bruce asked quietly. “It’s fairly common after critical injuries for a person to have light sensitivity.”

“I…” Steve’s head still pulsed with pain, but his stomach thankfully quieted. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good.”

There was the sound of shuffling and a clunk. “Damn, it’s dark in here.” Bucky’s voice rang out clearly. 

Steve jumped.

“You okay, Steve?” Bruce asked. “I know it’s a bit dark, but I think any light will just exacerbate your migraine.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” In the dark Steve could see Bucky’s barely there outline against the chair Natasha had read in earlier. “Before, we slept outside all the time. A lot of nights we couldn’t even have a fire.”

“Of course you’re fine.” Bucky’s voice told rather than asked. It was a tactic he’d used all throughout their childhood. There was a flash and the red light from a cigarette. Steve could almost swear he smelled tobacco. 

“Well, you weren’t really awake for it, but Dr. Sanchel was here a few minutes ago.” Bruce was right; Steve didn’t remember it. “She gave you your next dosage. But I’ll give her a call about the migraine. That could be a side effect of one of the meds.”

“Careful,” Steve added as Bruce navigated the room, “there’s a chest next to the door. It’s easy to accidentally trip on.”

“Ha.” Bucky chuckled quietly. “I think my shins are going to be black and blue. Bruce will figure it out.”

There was a slight pause. “Thanks Steve; I’ll be careful.” 

He walked easily around the antique and Steve’s brain tumbled over itself. When was the last time Bruce had been in his apartment? Had he ever?

“What do you think?” Bucky’s voice was closer. He sat on the edge of the bed, hips only inches from Steve’s legs. This close Steve could see the dress pants and button down Bucky wore. It was his favorite outfit for double dates. “He’s strange.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was quiet. The pain behind his eyes thudded loudly in time with his heartbeat. “He’s a good person.”

Bucky chuckled and put out the end of his cigarette on Steve’s bedside table. “You think everyone has good in them.” 

“I…” Steve shut his eyes. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Bucky leaned in close. 

“Steve?” Bruce’s voice cut across the open space. “I just talked to Dr. Sanchel; she’s going to come up and get some blood.”

If he’d heard Steve talking to himself, he didn’t mention it.

“Thanks.” Steve awkwardly cleared his throat.

Bucky was gone again.


End file.
